


Once upon a realm

by Buttons15



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6898366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttons15/pseuds/Buttons15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which someone messes up the universe nearby and Ciri ends up with a really bad headache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Henry woke up with a jump, startled, his alert eyes darting all over the place… and found no one. He scrambled up, his heart thumping loud.

“Grandma?” He hurried down the stairs, hands never leaving the rails because that was how Mom had taught him. “Grampa?! Hook?!”

Empty. The house was empty, as if its inhabitants had just been written out of existence. The very thought of it made his hands sweat cold, and as he wiped them on the sides of his coat, something caught his eyes – the book. He crouched to look at it, holding his breath, fingers lingering tentatively on the downturned spine, flipped it over so he could see the paper… and pulled his hand away as if bitten.

He closed his fingers into a fist and gritted his teeth, staring at blank page after blank page, pages where his family’s stories, _his_ stories used to be. He almost lost it right then and there, his hands shaking, but then something stronger yelled out from inside him, something that told him to _believe._

And so he closed the book, stood up, put it back over the counter and took a deep breath, and he asked himself what to do and when his mind came blank, he went to the second best question, which was what would his moms do?

 _A plan,_ his inner Regina answered nonchalantly. _You could be in danger._

 _Go out and look for someone!_   retorted his inner Emma.

This time around, genetics was louder than upbringing and good sense. He went out the door, skipping the steps two at a time, and ran out into the equally empty streets.

“Hello?! Is anyone here??” He called. He went through the main street and even into Gold’s shop, where he found nothing but an eerie vinyl still spinning. And then he heard a thud and a clash and a distinct voice from far away, so he dashed outside to search for the sound, ignoring the thought of a careful approach.

 _“_ Oh, motherfucking goddamn - aghhhh _”_

With how loud the woman was being, Henry had no trouble finding her.  The first thing he noticed was the hair, because how could he not – it was ashen blond, all but white, caught in a sloppy bun. The second thing he noticed was the big scary sword hanging on her back, which matched well with the third thing he noticed - a thin scar that ran from cheekbone to ear. If that didn’t alarm him enough, then the blonde’s next words did the job.

“Someone’s head is going to roll for this,” the woman hissed.

Scary Sword Lady was shielding her eyes with her outstretched palms, visibly uncomfortable. Her vibrant green eyes were squinted. Henry cleared his throat, not wanting to startle her, not quite sure if she’d already noticed him either.

“Uhmm…hello?” He began tentatively. “Is there anything I could help you with?”

“Migraine,” the stranger mumbled. Her accent was rather thick.

“I, ah,” Henry knelt on the ground and bent over his backpack. “Think I may have a pill somewhere…”

“A pill,” she repeated, then forced her eyes slightly more open and turned her head around. “Cars, lampposts, billboards and traffic signs –”

“Gotcha!” the boy triumphantly lifted a little yellow bottle. It was snatched from his hands before he could protest.

“ – and aspirins, thank the gods old and new for that.”  She uncorked the flask with a single movement of her thumb, spilled three or four capsules over her palm and took them all at once, chewing the tablets and scowling at the bitterness. Henry was quite sure this was not how aspirin was meant to be taken, but he did not dare raise any objections.

Now more energetic, the woman started pacing around. He chased after, head full of questions, trying to pick which one to ask first. If she was bothered by that, or otherwise by the complete absence of any other human being, she didn’t show it. In fact, the only thing she did show any concern over was her headache.

He winced when Scary Sword Lady knocked the door at Granny’s off its hinges with a single hard kick, and hung back as she barged in and went through the objects in the counter. Henry finally decided it was safe to take a seat when he realized what she was doing – brewing what looked like a liter of really, really strong coffee. This time, prudence won over impatience, and he peacefully waited until the other was done with her drink to try and start a conversation.

“So…” he began, once the blonde had drunk her third mug dry. She’d been so kind as to serve him also, but he hadn’t touched the drink. “Ah…um. I’m Henry. Henry Mills.” He extended his hand timidly.

That seemed to snap the woman out of her thoughts. “Cirilla of Cintra,” she answered, and her gloved hand shook his with a firm grip. “Well met, Henry Mills. Now, I’ve got a few questions for you.”

_She’s got a few questions?! _

“You see, I’m looking for someone… someone special. Someone like me. And since you and I seem to be the only human beings in town, and there must be a story behind that, a story probably linked to the reason I’m here, then I assume you, smart lad that you are, can lead me to whom I seek.”

 _Careful, now_ , both his inner moms warned. He swallowed dry, thinking hard. This person was dangerous, and this person was serious, and he had to figure out a way to keep her talking without revealing much about himself.

“Someone like you…?” He trailed off.

“A jumper. A planeswalker. A whatever-you-call it. Someone who can cross the realms. Who can travel between time and space.” She took a sip from her cup, then put it down and looked at him straight in the eyes. “Might you know any such person?”

_The author. She’s looking for the author._

He didn’t drop his gaze. He took a deep breath and did his best to hold his ground and appear unimpressed. “Maybe. Why?”

Abruptly, the woman burst out laughing. “Oh, I like you, kid. You have some spine.” She smiled again, but it did not quite reach her eyes. Henry fiddled with his thumbs under the table.

“You see, Henry Mills, when you’re like us, there’s…a few rules. Nothing set in stone, but unspoken courtesy, if you will. There are variables and constants and you can play with the former all you want, but mess with a constant and you make ripples.” With her index finger, she drew a spiral in the air. “Now, your friend, he messed up big time, you see. Something he did made a _lot_ of ripples, echoing over and over the realms. And when the fabric of space-time twists like that, inconvenient things happen. Luck turns into misfortune in a nearby land, a planeswalker emerges two centuries before planned, and if I am passing by –”

She suddenly slammed both her open palms on the table, so hard his teeth clattered. “I. Get. Migraines. Sometimes those are very bad migraines. Sadly, there is no such thing as a space-time police in charge of punishing people for being so rude. What there is, however, is a very pissed off me, who wants to kindly pass on this headache, with her fists. So, can you give me a pointer, or shall I go look by myself?”

He rubbed his nape with his hand nervously. “I can give you a pointer… actually, we may be after the same person so… you help me, I help you?”

She bit the thumb of her leather glove and pulled it out with her teeth, then used her free hand to remove the glove from the other side and pocket both of them in her belt. “Talk, and we’ll see. Tell me what happened.”

He took a deep breath, changed his mind about his coffee and took a sip, and then he told her as little as he could, as much as it was needed.

“The man you’re looking for, we call him the Author. He has a magic quill which he can use to…rewrite history. He was supposed to register the stories around the realms of fairy tale, but he abused his power and changed them instead, so that the villains would get the happy endings.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Villains, happy endings, realms of fairy tale…the places I end up in.” She sighed. “Sounds like he grabbed space-time and flipped it inside out. What a _literal_ pain.”

“Wouldn’t reverting things back to how they were fix it, though? The ripples and uh, your headache.” Henry suggested sheepishly.

She lifted her eyebrows and stared at him nonchalantly. “Not really, no. Changing things back implies changing things again – more ripples, more distortions. Pointless, really. This isn’t about setting things right – there isn’t really a right and a wrong way of things to be. This is about me, my headache, and my desire for petty revenge.”

“Oh…” he replied, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “…oh. It’s just, my family is gone and…I guess I could use a bit of help.”

He gave her his best puppy-eyes. She stared back blankly, inexpressive, for a full three seconds. He fidgeted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to squirm.

“A contract, then.” She leaned back. “I don’t give out contracts to just anyone, but you bought my goodwill with a box of aspirins. So, let us negotiate. What is it that you want from me, exactly?”

Henry chewed on the side of his cheek. “Well, I need to find the Author and somehow convince him to change things back. You come with me, and you get to… punch him in the face? It’s a win-win.”

Cirilla shook her head. “Nope. That’s not how it works at all, kiddo. We’re sealing a witcher contract here. I need to know what my job is. Besides, your information is entirely optional and useless in the bargain – I can find the Author regardless.”

He took his time to consider it, thinking back to all the times he’d seen his mom close a deal. He could use this woman’s help, yes, but how? His eyes darted to the sword and the scar. He would like to have those on his side. At the same time, though, her fickle and explosive attitude wasn’t one he’d like to have on the lead.

“I’ll need you to be… a bodyguard, of sorts. Just follow me along while I try and get my family back, and ward off the bad guys if needed – uh, without killing, please.”

The woman frowned. “An escort, then? That’s what you want?”

He nodded. She tapped her chin with her index finger. “An escort, and a nonlethal one to boot. Mmmh. Can do.”

Henry took another sip of his coffee before asking the – maybe literally – million-dollar question. “And what would you want in exchange? My mom, Regina, she has money, I’m sure she won’t mind paying you a lot – ”

She silenced him with a wave of her hand. “Sometimes I take money. Not today, though. Today, I’m looking for something a bit more fun.” She grinned viciously at that. “For this contract, I will want that which you have, but do not know.”

_That which I have, but do not know._

He thought about it. Trying to guess the price was of course pointless, because his discovery of whatever-it-was would then render his contract null. So he tried instead to think about moments in his past in which he was unaware of something he had. Some things came to mind immediately –Christmas gifts, surprise birthday parties and at one occasion even an infestation of head lice. And then a dangerous thought crossed his mind.

That which he had, but did not know. One year back, that would have been his mom, Emma. That which he had but did not know could be anything, yes, but also _someone –_ a mother, a brother, an uncle. Cirilla was absently using a spoon to poke at the sugar on the bottom of her coffee mug. Henry frowned, rolling the words over and over in his head.

“That which I have, but do not know,” he said finally, calling her attention. “No. No deal, not like this, but… that which belongs to me, but I do not know, I can give you that.”

She straightened up and leaned forward to look him in the eyes. “That which belongs to you, but you do not know, eh? Most people wouldn’t notice the difference.”

“I’ve been around magic long enough to learn that wording matters.”

She laughed at that. “You’re sharp, kid. Very well. We have a deal.”

The sentence was punctuated by her offering her hand, this time bare.

“We have a deal,” he agreed, and they shook on it.  


	2. Chapter 2

 

Henry felt a bit more at ease once his newly hired bodyguard changed into clothes that suited the millennia. She didn’t look any less mean in jeans and a tee shirt, but he was oddly comforted by the fact that Cirilla’s choice of jacket was Emma’s favorite red leather one. Admittedly, the sword tied to her back still threw her off historical context, but she was adamant on keeping it that way. They walked out together from Mary Margareth’s apartment, she still shoving her medieval attires into a backpack, he planning their next move.

“…Can you drive?”

She stopped on the last step of the staircase that led into the street and grinned. “Driving. Yes.”

She said ‘driving’ in a similar way his mom Regina said ‘coercive negotiations’, and it gave Henry pause, but it was too late – she was already walking to the nearest vehicle, which so happened to be David’s truck. She produced a wire and a knife from her bag and deftly moved her fingers around the lock. The car alarm rung out when she got the door open, and was gone less than a minute after she ducked inside it and started fiddling with the wires.

Henry shuddered to imagine what Regina would think of the kind of company he was keeping right then. Emma would approve.

The engine charred into life and the blonde stuck her head off the window. “Coming with?”

To his credit, he hesitated.

_I’m going to die_ , he thought when the truck’s tires screeched. He dug his fingers on the seat and watched the speedometer needle move to the very last number and stick there.  He tried to distract himself by looking off the window, but the trees passing by way too fast were a grim reminder, so he closed his eyes.

Henry heard a chuckle coming from his side.

“You’re enjoying yourself,” he accused.

She laughed louder. “There’s no reason to worry. I have good reflexes, Henry Mills.”

“Just Henry will do,” he replied, taking her confidence to the deepest of his truest believer’s heart.

“You may call me Ciri, then. You know, I usually go for more effective means of travel…I had forgotten just how fun this can be. Nothing quite like the thrill of speeding a two ton metal cage over uneven terrain.”

“Uh,” Henry mumbled, holding to his seat a bit tighter. He took a peek from one eye and saw the townline quickly approaching. “Listen, there’s something important I forgot to tell you. As soon as we cross the town border –”

The “Welcome to Storybrooke” sign went in and out his field of view faster than he could say ‘oops’. A wave of energy hit him as he exited the range of the magical cloak that covered the town.

“Oops.” Ciri mused. “Nothing lethal, I suppose.”

“…we’re in a world without magic,” Henry sighed.

“Oh, that.” The blonde turned to face him, one arm resting on the open window, and he wanted to yell at her to please keep both her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road. “No big deal. I’m a Source.”

“A source?” he queried.

She let go of the wheel to make a vague gesture with her hand.  Henry decided to keep his eyes closed for a bit longer. “Most people are…magical conduits. Some better, some worse. Every now and then you get someone who is an actual magical Source – like me. I’m my own little magic powerhouse.”

“Like how magical artifacts remain magical even outside of Storybrooke” he deduced.

“Yeah, I guess, you could call me a living, talking magical artifact. A powerful one. A _very powerful_ one. Where I am doesn’t really matter – in fact, bringing or taking magic out of places is… within my range of possibilities.”

Henry’s curiosity got the best of him. “Are there many more like you?”

“Nuh-uh. We’re born every so often, but I’m pretty sure I’m the oldest living one. We tend to get killed in various horrible ways. Usually either hounded to death by sorcerers who desire our power or, more often than not, torn to pieces by catastrophic accidents when magic gets out of control.”

“You don’t look so old,” he pointed out, though he knew looks could be deceiving.

“I have been time travelling enough to have no fucking clue how old I am. I’ll ask my mom next time I see her. Probably twenty-something.”

“That’s not very old at all.” He reached for a pack of chips inside his bag and pulled it open.

“Sources usually die in their early teens. I got lucky because my mum, she’s a brilliant sorceress, so she helped me reign it in, and even then… kid, there was one time she was teaching me to cast a spark and I blew a barn to the moon.”

The blonde reached inside his bag of snacks and grabbed a handful. “Oh, there, we have to stop there,” she babbled with her mouth full, pointing to a gas station on the side of the road, her foot hitting the breaks before he could finish processing the information.

And then he thanked his inner Regina one million times for making him wear a seatbelt – not that he wouldn’t have, at that speed. The inertia all but threw him through the dashboard, and the car skidded to a halt so abruptly, he was sure they had the attention of literally everyone inside the place’s little shop.

“Why did we stop?”  Henry rubbed his neck where the seatbelt had left its mark.

“A hunch. Something will happen here. Besides, I need to use the toilet. Come on, let’s go.”

They got inside the place and he went straight to the counter. From his pocket, he pulled a picture of his moms and grandparents and showed it to the moody-looking waitress.

“Have you seen these people? Please, they’re my family,” he insisted when she gave him a dismissive look. That got the woman’s attention.

“Are you alone? Are you old enough to drive?”

“No, I – I’m with –”

“He’s my brother,” A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he turned with relief to give Ciri a thanking look. She didn’t notice it though, her eyes busy scanning the pictures on the counter. “Henry, dear, what are you up to? You’ll startle people.”

“This woman is your sister?” the waitress questioned, skeptical.

Henry looked at Ciri, all ashen blond hair and green eyes and imposing frame, thought back to his dark hair and eyes and lanky figure, and decided he’d have his doubts about their parenthood, too.

“He’s adopted,” the blonde smiled. “We’re looking for his biological parents - I’m sorry for any inconveniences. I could hardly say no when he found the pictures… and Henry is very excited now we’re so close.”

The waitress’ eyes softened at that, but she threw one last questioning glance his way. He nodded, confirming the story.

“I see. Well, in that case…”

But he wasn’t listening anymore, because something else caught his eyes. On the shelf rested copies of a book, Heroes and Villains, by none other than Isaac Heller, the Author himself. He took a sideway glance to where Ciri still entertained the waitress, and saw the blonde lean in and whisper something that made the other woman flush. Wincing, pushing that image out of his mind as best as he could, he picked a copy of the book and tucked it in his coat.

“Sister!” He called out, already heading out the door.

“Coming, numbskull!” He pretended not to see when his partner winked to the waitress, passing her a slip of paper.

He didn’t even wait for her to start the car – as soon as the two got in, he pulled the book out of his coat and spoke up.

“We’re going to –”

“New York City, I know.”

He fastened his seatbelt. “If you knew before, then why did we stop here at all?” he half demanded, bewildered.

She shrugged, fiddling with the wires until the car started. “The answer to that is, of course, that I didn’t know it, not until you had that book in hands, and then bam! Destination updated.”

“How’s that… never mind.” He rubbed his forehead with his index and middle fingers. “The Author won’t be there forever. We have little over forty minutes – an hour at best… how fast do you think you can get there?”

“Minus an hour. We’ll get there right before he starts.”  Henry opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head to silence him. “Don’t think too hard about it. In fact, don’t think about it at all. Just close your eyes and count backwards from ten.”

He did as he was told, against his better judgment. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven –”

He was assaulted by a bizarre sensation of falling in every direction, suddenly weightless yet at the same time speeding and spinning. And then, just as abruptly as it had started, the feeling vanished and he was grounded again, his butt firm against the car seat.

“ –en. Nine –” He heard his own voice say before he could close his mouth shut and open his eyes.

And sure enough, there they were, in New York, the clock precisely one hour too soon. A wave of confusion rose in his brain as memories overlapped and he saw himself doing _now_ the things he had done _in the past_ , which was now the present –

He groaned, the beginnings of a headache creeping into his skull. He felt something damp on his face and touched his lips. His fingers came back red – his nose was bleeding. He wiped it with the back of his hand. To his side, Ciri chuckled.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” she repeated. “It’ll make the headache considerably worse. Just accept whatever new memory your brain comes up with, and that’s that.  The nosebleeds usually stop coming once you’ve hopped three or four times.”

“God – what the – ahh ” Henry muttered incoherently, which earned him more laughter.

“Now imagine doing this and missing your destination in space-time because some asshole decided to play god, and you’ll see why I’m pissed. Come on – the show’s about to start.”

They came out of the car, Henry’s head positively throbbing now, and it suddenly made sense to him how much goodwill he earned from a super powerful stranger by offering a bottle of painkillers. Speaking of which –

“Do you think any of that aspirin is left?” He queried, his throat raspy.

She scoffed and tossed him the bottle. “Word of advice: double the dose, and then chew on it. It works faster.”

For the second time that day - _or was it the first? -_   he rose no objections to how aspirin should be taken.

They entered the hall together, and Henry realized right then that he needn’t have worried about his partner carrying a sword around, not only because they were in New York and people simply did not give much of a damn, but also because swords were in perfectly character for the event. All around him, people dressed like characters from fairy tales, people dressed like _his family_ , stood eagerly waiting in a line, each holding one or more copies of the book.

And while most costumes were pretty off, he saw one or two Storybrooker-lookalikes that were so similar yet so different, he felt eerie. Now that he was so close, he wasn’t so sure what he’d do. He reached inside his coat’s pocket for the door and the key, deciding he’d have to get himself some alone time with Isaac first.

The page caught Ciri’s eyes.

“A portal?” she asked.

Henry nodded. “Listen, here’s the plan – you’ll wait for me at the back… there” he pointed to a sideway room, where he could see boxes and boxes of Heroes and Villains. “I’ll talk him into going there, and you surprise him when he’s distracted, yeah?”

“Aye, aye,” she grinned, the glint in her eyes nothing short of hungry.

“No killing!” He felt the need to remind her. She rolled her eyes, then he lost her in the crowd.

Henry waited in line, holding his breath with every new step, ducking behind a stranger every now and then to avoid being seen too soon. And then it was finally his turn, so he gripped the key between his thumb and forefinger, his hand sweaty, and slapped the door on top of the desk. Isaac looked up at him with wide eyes.

“What are you doing here?” the man hissed.

“What did you do with my family? Where are they?!” Henry demanded.

“I… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The man’s nervous fidgeting and initial surprise told Henry otherwise, and he slammed his palm on the desk, patience running thin.

“Uhn-uhn. You’re lying.” He lifted the key. “Now, you know what this does, so you either give me some answers or I open this door and you get a whole new ending.”

Isaac frowned and followed him to the storage room reluctantly, despite his fan’s protests. The boy took the chance to look for his partner in the room, but if she was there, she was well hidden.

“Okay,” the author began. “Much to the chagrin of my publicist, you have my undivided attention.”

“Where’s my family?”

“You really want to know?” Isaac sighed.  “Look around you. They’re all right there…in my bestselling book.”

“What does that mean?” He insisted, his heart doing a little flip. “Are they still alive?!”

He brought the key closer to the door to make a point.

“Hey – hey! Easy with the key, cowboy. Your family is fine. If you want to get technical…” Isaac put his bag on top of a pile of crates and pulled a book from within.  Molded on the likes of his ‘Once Upon a Time’, the book had ‘Heroes and Villains’ on its black cover.

“…they’re in here.” The author tapped his masterpiece. “See? The original copy of my book – the one I have always wanted to write. They all live in here now in some kind of alternate reality.”

“You’ve made them miserable,” Henry accused.

“I see that you’ve read some of my book. Good! You should know everyone got the ending they deserve…except Emma, of course. You won’t find her in the book.” He leaned in and whispered. “There was no room for a savior in my world.”

“Bullshit.” A firm voice called, and Ciri stepped out from behind some boxes. “Bullshit. You don’t have that kind of power. Erasing someone from existence…” She waltzed their way, stopped in front of Isaac and put a hand on his shoulder. She shook her head, lips twisted in a half smile. “…not so simple.”

And then she twisted her body so fast, Henry would have missed it if he blinked, and the Author stumbled back, hands covering his nose, blood seeping between his fingers.

“That one was for lying.” The blonde’s smile widened. She stepped forward, and Isaac backpedaled. “Now, you’re going to be very cooperative, aren’t you? Henry, you had questions…?”

“Bring them back,” he demanded.

Isaac looked to one side, then the other, and then he bolted to the exit. Ciri vanished in a flash of blue and appeared in ahead of him. She extended her leg and the man tripped and fell. She bent over and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, lifting him with ease, and then with her free hand, she delivered a deep punch to his abdomen. He bent over, gasping for air, and when she let go of him, he fell to the ground.

“That’s for running away.”  She twisted and delivered a kick to his buttocks that sent him sprawling. “And that’s for being unhelpful.”  With a single, smooth movement, she drew her blade from her back.  “I’m not heartless, you know,” she mused, dragging the tip of the sword against concrete. Isaac crawled back, dragging his butt on the floor.

“I can stand a headache, for a good cause. I got a horrible migraine this once, and I learned the source was a time bending girl who just wanted to keep her best friend alive, and she got off with nothing but a stern scold from me.”

 She flicked her wrist and Isaac yelled, flinching. Henry didn’t see the sword hit flesh, but a deep gash opened on the author’s cheek, bleeding profusely. He moved one of his hands from his nose to the new wound, trying to contain the blood flow.  The sword tip touched the ground again, and a small pool of red formed around it.

Grinning, Ciri crouched to level her eyes with the man’s. “That’s for not being a well-meaning young woman. Now, unless you want me to slice your eyeball in two neat little hemispheres…” She made a slicing gesture with her free hand and a popping sound with her tongue, “…you’ll give my client exactly what he wants.”

_Holy shit_

The sight of blood made him slightly dizzy, and Henry took a step back. “Uh, Ciri, I think that’s enough…” He covered his eyes with his hand. “There’s no need to get so… violent.”

“Of course there is no _need_ , but I _wanted_ to. Besides, you said no killing, and I was only…maiming.” 

Henry took a deep breath to steady himself. “I only need him to turn things back to what they were.”

“You heard the kid,” Ciri poked Isaac with her feet.

“I can’t! I can’t!” The man yelped.

“Oh, what is that?” The blonde tapped the sword tip on the floor.

“I’m not the author anymore!” he stammered. “I don’t have the power to, I – I – I broke the rule! The number one rule of the authors is you cannot write your own happy ending, and I did, and now I’ve lost the rights over the quill –”

“…So you’re useless to me.” Ciri finished, standing up.

Isaac paled, eyes wide. He backed further, until his shoulders touched the wall “I – I –”

“We can fix this from the inside,” Henry spoke up, an idea suddenly forming in his head. “We can go in there and break this curse by making a happy ending happen.”

“You can?” Ciri queried, puzzled.

“I know I can. I believe it.” He opened Heroes and Villains and flipped the pages until he found a  door.

“Oh.” The blonde blinked. “And him, what do I do with him? Because I recommend no loose ends – ”

Henry massaged his temples. He would be lying if the thought of simply getting rid of Isaac didn’t cross his mind, but he was quick to discard it. It was the easy option, sure, but heroes did what was right, not what was more convenient.

“We’ll have to take him with us – we can’t be sure he won’t be in our way otherwise.”

She walked to the man and grabbed him by the collar again. “Allright, boss. What next?”

“We go to the Enchanted Forest.”

He touched the key on the paper and turned, and just like that, they were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Just needeed something quick and fun to take my mind off school for a bit. Not sure where I'm going with this, if anywhere, but it'll end up a Regina/Emma for sure if I do.


End file.
